


Unfamiliar but until now

by pearl_o



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, M/M, Marriage of Convenience
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-08
Updated: 2016-04-08
Packaged: 2018-05-31 22:49:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6490372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pearl_o/pseuds/pearl_o
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>That man is my intended and as such he is under the protection of the House of Xavier.</i>
</p>
<p>One sentence: that was it. Everything else proceeded from there. His entire life irrevocably changed--and not merely his own life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unfamiliar but until now

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to cygnaut and firstlightofeos.

Raven accompanies Charles from the baths all the way through the halls of the manor, stopping just outside his door. 

She leans in to give him the traditional kiss on the cheek, but as Charles is expecting her to continue with the usual words (to your joy), she surprises him instead.

"You're an idiot, you know."

Her arms are folded across her chest and she looks--not upset, but not happy, either. Usually Charles would have noticed that, would have read the emotions off her as they walked. He's always found Raven more difficult to read than most people, but when they're alone together like this, surface feelings should be easy and natural. 

He can't blame himself for missing it now, though. He's been rather focused on other things the last few hours.

"I know what I'm doing, Raven," Charles says gently.

"I hope you do," Raven replies. She is not bothering to hide her lack of confidence in him. The rights of a little sister and of an heir, he's always thought. As much as he understands the need for someone willing to question him, it's still irritating more often than not.

"When have I ever been wrong before?" Charles says, and Raven snorts. "You like Erik, don't you?"

"I do like him, but that's not the point. He's not your responsibility."

"He is now," Charles says. Erik is under the protection of the House of Xavier. No matter what else happens, that will be true. That's the reason for all of this, the only thing that matters. "You know I didn't have any other choice."

There are other ways to join a person to a House. The staff of the household that keep it all working, the security that defends and protects them all; they are all his people. But none of those would have worked today. Nothing else would have been this fast, or this definite. 

"There are always choices," Raven says, stubborn as ever. 

Charles sighs, pushing down his impatience before he speaks again. "I don't want to argue with you right now," he says after a moment. "It's my wedding day, you might have noticed."

"I might have," Raven repeats drily. She gives Charles a long look, then leans in once to repeat her kiss on his cheek. "To your joy," she says this time, exactly as she ought, and then she leaves Charles to enter his chambers alone.

The table nearest the largest window, the one that faces out toward the front of the house and all of the lands surrounding them, has been set with a tray holding a covered dish, a bottle of wine and some glasses and plates. Charles sits down heavily in one of the chairs, exhaling sharply as he does so. He's been on his feet for much of the day, and he's paying for it now. There's only so much his walking stick, the best potions and poultices his healers can make, and even the hot soak in the water can do to keep the pain away if he pushes too far. Usually he's careful to keep within his limits. 

But today is special, isn't it?

The food will remain untouched until Erik joins him, but Charles allows himself to pour a glass of wine while he waits. He looks around the room as he sips. It looks the same as ever, which is strange, he thinks, because the staff has had hours to move Erik's belongings up here from the other side of the estate--but no; there are night clothes Charles doesn't recognize, laid by the bed next to Charles's own. 

So Erik's things _have_ been transferred from the quarters for unattached guests, then. It's simply that he doesn't have very many things. And that shouldn't be a surprise, either, really; after all, it's not as though Erik has stayed in any one place for very long, these past few years. Of course he would only acquire as much as he could carry with him each time he moved on.

Charles had rather looked forward to the sight of their possessions intermixed. 

Silly.

He becomes aware suddenly of the distinctive buzz that is Erik's mind, entering this wing of the manor and beginning down the corridors that will lead to this room. He takes another long swig of wine, so he can put the warmth that fills his chest down to the alcohol and nothing else.

Erik has no kin and no close friendships here, either, so it is Hank who is accompanying him on his walk. Hank grew up as part of the household, and Charles has known him since they were children together; Hank's emotions are as familiar to him as anyone's. Currently he's vaguely uncomfortable around Erik, and as uncertain as Raven regarding the wisdom of this marriage, though he'll never say anything to Charles as she did. And Hank is doing this anyway, leading Erik through the steps to be followed, despite any anxieties he might have.

_Thank you_ , Charles says, sending the message to Hank as he and Erik stop outside the room. 

Hank thinks back an acknowledgement as he pecks Erik's cheek and murmurs the obligatory words, and then he's done, hurrying away again toward the main sections of the manor. 

It's another minute before Erik opens the door and lets himself inside.

If this had been a proper wedding, with weeks or months to prepare, Erik would be dressed in new robes, ordered and sewn and embroidered just for this occasion. They would be fine, and soft, thin enough to cling but not so thin as be see-through. Everyone who saw him would be able to see he was a newlywed. For Charles, too, the same would be true.

As it is, with all of the arrangements thrown together so suddenly, Charles is wearing the same robe he wears for everyday, and Erik is wearing the spare he uses when this one is being washed. The spare robe is too short on Erik, leaving a good portion of his shins bared, and the material is thick and warm, colored a bright and cheerful red. It's designed for cozy winter nights by the fire, not for any important occasion. 

Still, it looks good on him. Charles finds it difficult to look away from his hair, still damp and curling at his neck, or the droplet of water at sits at his collarbone, just above a shiny scar that disappears beneath the fabric.

"Hello," Erik says. He's still standing, just inside the door, barely a few steps into the room. His face and his voice both are very solemn. There's a whirlwind of emotions under the stolid exterior, Charles knows, and yet he can't bring himself to dip beneath the surface to examine them.

Erik has been here before, many times, in the weeks since he arrived. They've played at games and drank together nearly every night. It's not unfamiliar.

"Hello," Charles echoes. He gestures to the chair beside him. "Please, sit."

Erik tilts his head in acknowledgement. He crosses the room and seats himself facing Charles. Charles pours another glass of wine to match his own, but Erik ignores it for the moment, gazing at Charles with a searching expression.

Charles isn't certain what Erik;s searching for, but there's something he has to say, hard as it might be. "I owe you an apology, I think," he says slowly.

Erik blinks rapidly, but otherwise his face shows no sign of the startlement Charles knows he feels. "Do you?" Erik says, in his low, soft voice. "For what?"

"All of this," Charles says, gesturing vaguely. "I didn't give you much choice in it, did I?"

He had acted at the speed of thought; no time to consider, no time to do something as reasonable as _ask_. He had realized the opportunity and he had taken it, stopping Shaw's people in their tracks with a few words, ringing cold and furious and bright across the courtyard, before they could lay a hand on Erik and take him for plotting against their House.

_That man is my intended and as such he is under the protection of the House of Xavier._

One sentence: that was it. Everything else proceeded from there. His entire life irrevocably changed--and not merely his own life.

"I could have objected," Erik says now. "I could have said it was a lie. I could have agreed then, only to run away once the immediate danger was gone. I had choices of my own, Charles." He's quiet a moment. "You saved my life. I couldn't have taken all of them, not at that moment, and not without taking innocents as well. I owe you a debt, I suppose."

"Yes," Charles says. "And you do not strike me as someone who can stand to be indebted."

To Charles's very great surprise, his statement provokes a smile in Erik. Not a large smile--not the wide, wild thing he has seen on the few occasions when he has managed to make Erik laugh--but an upturned corner of his mouth, nearly a smirk.

"You're not wrong. If I must be beholden to someone, however… I don't know another person I would prefer it to be."

Charles cannot hold back his own small, soft curve of a smile then, though he can't think of a thing to say in return.

Erik is the first to look away from their shared gaze a few moments later, shifting on his chair as he turns to the contents of the table. "Are we having dinner alone, then? Not in the hall with the others?"

Charles nods. "I told you earlier that there were three parts to the wedding ceremony." He hadn't had time to say much more beyond that-- _trust me_ and _follow my lead_ were about as far as he had gotten. "Signing our names into the book in the library, with Raven and Hank--that was part one. The public commitment."

"And part two was the water," Erik says.

"The baths, yes. Washing away our old selves to emerge fresh for the new life." Charles had used the house baths, same as always, but Hank had led Erik out to the pond further along the grounds. Purer in a way. It might be completely against the spirit of the thing, but Charles wishes he could have seen it, Erik rising from the water like some wild part of nature. He grins at a sudden thought. "You know, there's a theory that there was a different origin to the ritual. Supposedly, marriages used to be decided by competition--the lower rank spouses triumphing at a sort of tournament, winning the right to marry into the House. The baths were to wash off the blood that had been spilt along the way. Likely just an old wives' tale, but what a story."

He's rambling, perhaps--he suspects Raven would be rolling her eyes by now--but Erik looks amused, enough. Fond, even.

"That leaves us with one more part, then," Erik says.

"Yes," Charles says. "And here it is."

He uncovers the large dish on the tray; underneath are two piles of pale doughy buns. Half are stamped with a green design, and half in pink. Charles picks up one of each variety, keeping a pink bun for himself and handing the green to Erik.

"Take a bite," Charles says, before he proceeds to do so with his own. The bun is soft and delicate, almost sticky in its tenderness as his teeth sink through to the filling. There's finely chopped meat, dried fruit and honey, all of it exquisitely spiced and melting on his tongue. 

He feels another sudden surge of pride for his household. Another element that normally would be planned far ahead, rushed and hurried instead, and yet look how they've risen to the occasion. He'll have to visit the kitchens tomorrow, he thinks, make a note of thanking the staff there personally.

Erik finishes chewing and swallows his own mouthful. He raises his bun up to take another bite, but Charles stops him with a hand on his wrist. "No--the other half is for you to give to me," he explains.

Something flickers in Erik's eyes as he nods again, lifting the morsel up to Charles's mouth. It's difficult for Charles to keep his gaze on Erik's as he takes it in. He concentrates on the taste: bitter greens, cooked down soft, contrasting with the astringency of vinegar and a sharp crumbly cheese. Just as delicious as the first bun, in its own way.

He has his own bun to feed to Erik, as well. A bit of the juice has dripped out onto his thumb and for an instant he thinks Erik might turn his head to lick it off. Erik doesn't, of course, but Charles can still hear an unfamiliar shakiness in his own voice when he speaks again.

"Tasting the bitter and the sweet together, you see? Ready for both, accepting both."

"Hm," Erik says. It's less of a word than a hum, or a soft considering noise in his throat. He wipes his hand on one of the napkins. "And what is next?"

"That's it."

"That's it?"

"It's the end of the ceremony, at least," Charles says with a shrug. "Next is just...the marriage."

Erik touches his wine for the first time, taking a careful sip. Charles looks back down at the food--the rest of the buns are considered dinner, to eat as they like, and he picks up another of the ones with the greens to nibble at, though his appetite isn't particularly strong.

"You apologized to me," Erik says, "but you must know you've gotten the weak end of this bargain."

Charles looks up into Erik's serious, frowning face.

"I don't bring you a name or power or whatever it is that runs these games your Houses play in this country. I don't even have any promises to give you. I'm not a good husband."

"You were married before," Charles says, not a question. It's not surprising, a man of Erik's age. It's more unusual that Charles has remained unattached so long himself. He's been of age and head of his house a dozen years; what has he been waiting for?

(For love, of course. The opposite of either of his mother's marriages. Love, what else? That's something Erik has no need to know.)

Erik nods, a slight tilt of his head, and he flicks his fingers in the direction of his temple. A wordless invitation, the same one Charles has seen a dozen times in the weeks they've known each other, appreciated and craved each time.

The first time he entered into Erik's mind was the day Erik arrived at the gates of the house. It was a condition of allowing him to enter and stay here as a guest; a quick scan to satisfy himself that Erik intended no harm to any of those under Charles's protection. He'd gotten that, and further a certainty that the cause that Erik carried, the vengeance he held close, was at least just, in its way.

It had been almost perfunctory, the briefest slip into Erik's mind, but--there was, is, something about it, something about Erik's mind that is different than any other Charles has known, oddly captivating and sweet. It wasn't his gift; Charles has seen many gifts over the years, though he suspects Erik's is stronger than any other he remembers. No, something else, something intrinsic to Erik's self. 

And Erik has invited him back in since. More than once.

Charles dips in now, skimming over the thoughts at the top of Erik's attention. It only takes a moment to process the whole of it, the years of memories and images and remembrances.

He lets out a deep breath as he comes back up. Erik is still watching him, waiting.

There are many things Charles could say, reasons he could offer for why this will be different. The contrast between youth and maturity is only one, though not the least of them. Expectations, experience, vulnerability and privilege--a million ways that their situation differs from the disappointments and tragedy of the past.

He says none of it. What he says, instead, is "I can see why our ceremonies might have surprised you, today. It's very different." 

Erik's first wedding was one of the only light spots Charles has seen, brushing through the memories of his past. Celebration filled with people and flowers, days of feasting and dancing--and Charles hasn't thought about it in ages, but he suddenly misses dancing with a sudden twinge all through him. He hasn't danced since his injury and it's not something he's spent time grieving, but now he imagines it, dancing on the day he's married. 

It's a foolish thought. He pushes it away as quickly as he can.

"I like your way," Erik says. "It's quieter. More time to think."

In Charles's experience, more time to think is not necessarily a positive thing. Clearly Erik means it as such, though. 

"Erik," Charles says, somewhat haltingly, "I--we are friends, you and I, I think?" He waits for Erik's careful nod of acknowledgment. "And I think I'm right, too, that you desire me."

Erik's face is still as ever; he doesn't blush. He nods again.

He's not surprised, but he _is_ relieved. He'd known, but--he hadn't been absolutely certain. The mores Erik grew up with seem odd, strict in strange ways that Charles doesn't completely understand. It had seemed better to let the subject lay unsaid between them. 

"That is not nothing," Charles says. "It's quite a lot, in fact. As far as a basis for a marriage goes, I would say it's better than most."

Far, far better than obligation, he thinks to himself.

Erik frowns, though he's not unhappy. Thoughtful, rather. He takes a few buns from the tray, setting them in front of himself before tearing them into smaller pieces to pop into his mouth. 

Charles watches the smooth, graceful movement of Erik's hands and lets his mind wander where it will.

"You know," Erik says between bites, "there's another piece left, where I'm from." He looks up at Charles through his lashes as he takes a sip from his glass. "It's not considered a true marriage until it's consummated."

Charles has to clear his throat. "Ah," he says. "That's not--that's very personal, isn't it? Here that would be considered, well, one of the private mysteries of a marriage."

"Ah," Erik repeats. It's half-mocking, Charles thinks, but more than that it's playful, which is something he's rarely seen in Erik and more endearing than he could have guessed. "Private mysteries, hm? I like that, I think… Whatever else is true outside these walls, then--in here, it is just you and I, together."

"Yes," Charles says, and nothing else. It's all too much or else too little.

He was wrong before. He should have taken Erik to bed ages ago, he thinks wildly. He should have done it as soon as the desire became clear to him. It could have been something small then, casual and unimportant, enjoyable and nothing more, instead of this ache that's grown without his permission or conscious knowledge to something else. No one would have cared, any more than they've cared about any of the lovers Charles has taken over the years.

It's too late now--far too late, he amends, gazing into his husband's still faintly-smiling face. And when Erik rises from his seat and comes around the table, Charles takes the hand that Erik offers to help him stand, and he even allows the support of Erik's arm as they cross the room silently together toward the bed.


End file.
